Even the Roadside Weeds

By Beula M. Huey

My eye cannot escape

This fall’s spectacular.

A torch-lit maple at the meadow’s rise

Signals the season’s change:

The summer gone, the ripened seeds,

The shortened days, the cooling sun,

The empty oriole’s nest aswing;

Even the weeds

At roadside are aflame;

Sumac burns

To darkened pyres through frost;

The tops of willows bending in the draw

Blow down the valley in a gale of leaves;

The autumn sky deceives with sapphire calm,

The evergreens ignore the passing fall,

The tawny grasses tune the wind to song.

Why can’t all dying be so beautiful!